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“Mr. Scully is a gentleman in a very fair way to make a fortune,” answered Mr. Crampton. “Look you, John–it is just as well for your sake that I should give you the news a few weeks before the papers, for I don’t want you to be ruined, if I can help it, as I don’t wish to have you on my hands. We know all the particulars of Scully’s history. He was a Tory attorney at Oldborough; he was jilted by the present Lady Gorgon, turned Radical, and fought Sir George in his own borough. Sir George would have had the peerage he is dying for, had he not lost that second seat (by-the-by, my Lady will be here in five minutes), and Scully is now quite firm there. Well, my dear lad, we have bought your incorruptible Scully. Look here,”–and Mr. Crampton produced three Morning Posts.

“‘THE HONOURABLE HENRY HAWKSBY’S DINNER-PARTY.–Lord So-and-So–Duke of So-and-So–W. Pitt Scully, Esq. M.P.’

“Hawksby is our neutral, our dinner-giver.

“‘LADY DIANA DOLDRUM’S ROUT.–W. Pitt Scully, Esq,’ again.

“‘THE EARL OF MANTRAP’S GRAND DINNER.’–A Duke–four Lords–‘Mr. Scully, and Sir George Gorgon.'”

“Well, but I don’t see how you have bought him; look at his votes.”

“My dear John,” said Mr. Crampton, jingling his watch-seals very complacently, “I am letting you into fearful secrets. The great common end of party is to buy your opponents–the great statesman buys them for nothing.”

Here the attendant genius of Mr. Crampton made his appearance, and whispered something, to which the little gentleman said, “Show her Ladyship in,”–when the attendant disappeared.

“John,” said Mr. Crampton, with a very queer smile, “you can’t stay in this room while Lady Gorgon is with me; but there is a little clerk’s room behind the screen there, where you can wait until I call you.”

John retired, and as he closed the door of communication, strange to say, little Mr. Crampton sprang up and said, “Confound the young ninny, he has shut the door!”

Mr. Crampton then, remembering that he wanted a map in the next room, sprang into it, left the door half open in coming out, and was in time to receive Her Ladyship with smiling face as she, ushered by Mr. Strongitharm, majestically sailed in.

CHAPTER III. BEHIND THE SCENES.

In issuing from and leaving open the door of the inner room, Mr. Crampton had bestowed upon Mr. Perkins a look so peculiarly arch, that even he, simple as he was, began to imagine that some mystery was about to be cleared up, or some mighty matter to be discussed. Presently he heard the well-known voice of Lady Gorgon in conversation with his uncle. What could their talk be about? Mr. Perkins was dying to know, and–shall we say it?–advanced to the door on tiptoe and listened with all his might.

Her Ladyship, that Juno of a woman, if she had not borrowed Venus’s girdle to render herself irresistible, at least had adopted a tender, coaxing, wheedling, frisky tone, quite different from her ordinary dignified style of conversation. She called Mr. Crampton a naughty man, for neglecting his old friends, vowed that Sir George was quite hurt at his not coming to dine–nor fixing a day when he would come–and added, with a most engaging ogle, that she had three fine girls at home, who would perhaps make an evening pass pleasantly, even to such a gay bachelor as Mr. Crampton.

“Madam,” said he, with much gravity, “the daughters of such a mother must be charming; but I, who have seen your Ladyship, am, alas! proof against even them.”

Both parties here heaved tremendous sighs and affected to be wonderfully unhappy about something.

“I wish,” after a pause, said Lady Gorgon–“I wish, dear Mr. Crampton, you would not use that odious title ‘my Ladyship:’ you know it always makes me melancholy.”

“Melancholy, my dear Lady Gorgon; and why?”

“Because it makes me think of another title that ought to have been mine–ours (I speak for dear Sir George’s and my darling boy’s sake, Heaven knows, not mine). What a sad disappointment it has been to my husband, that after all his services, all the promises he has had, they have never given him his peerage. As for me, you know–“